Mine of Ashes
by fortysix past
Summary: It takes courage to act in the face of fear, but strength to carry on when everything loses purpose and meaning.
1. Crossroads and Decisions

**Preface**

I always thought that there was something lacking in the fanfiction surrounding the Hermione/Ginny pairing. In particular, there was no gradual development in the characters to decide that they wanted to be with each other or even to realise that they no longer wished to be in their canon pairing. In addition, the effects of the war seem to be for the most part forgotten or glossed over when, in my opinion, would have had lasting effects on their emotional balance (or perhaps lack thereof) and psyche - especially in the case of Hermione - when an astounding amount of history evidences that participants in war (voluntary or involuntary) suffer from a number of disorders in their post-war lives.

Therefore, I write this fanfiction in the hopes of filling this void and promise to do my best to keep my rendition of J.K. Rowling's beloved characters as close as possible to their original selves.

Please be aware that this story occurs immediately following the end of the seventh book but before the epilogue, so **spoilers are involved**.

* * *

**Crossroads and Decisions**

Hermione sighed as she stared out the cab window, watching the crimson and orange trees of autumn disappear behind the automobile and out of sight with an empty gaze. It had only been three months since Ginny had come to; nearly a month later she was allowed to return to the Burrow for further rehabilitation. With her overprotective family and Harry looking after her, Ginny would be alright. Or so Hermione told herself when she decided to leave the Burrow and return to the Granger house to search for clues of her parents' whereabouts.

Hermione smiled ruefully to herself. Eighteen years passed – almost nineteen – and she hadn't given much of a thought about her parents and how they were coping. She even separated herself from them before the war, but then, what else could she do? They were so alienated by her talents, her magic. But she still needed them.

A humble house slowly came into view as the cab turned a corner and rolled to a halt, breaking Hermione's blank stare and reverie. "'Ere y'are," the cab driver said as he twisted in his seat to give her a crooked smile.

"Thanks," Hermione breathed as she pushed open the door and dragged her empty suitcase out behind her. She paused and leaned into the window of the cab.

"I'll only be a few minutes."

With the suitcase held in one hand, her keys in the other, she approached the front door and unlocked it. The door opened inwards slowly; the hinges squeaked ever so slightly as the bottom of the door brushed against the welcome mat, pushing aside the sprawling pile of unopened letters and newspapers, still rolled up in elastic bands. Hermione set the empty luggage down in the foyer and stepped into the vacated house.

She wandered down the hallways, her eyes following the white skirting board to her room. Setting down her suitcase in the centre of her room on the rug-covered hardwood floor, she opened the dresser drawer, breathing in the stale but familiar scent of freshly laundered clothing.

The sentimental knicknacks, the books she had left behind, and a few other choice possessions including framed photographs, some moving, some eerily still were all packed away. The latches of the still half-empty suitcase snapped into place as she shut the lid, her eyes scanning her childhood bedroom carefully one last time.

Her fingers traced the bevelled edge of the granite kitchen counter top and stopped when it reached the corner of a Classified section laid open from a foreign newspaper. The red marker used to circle advertisements was left lying in the fold, its felt tip dry with the cap discarded on the floor. She leaned over, scrutinizing the small print, jotting down notes on a yellow Post-It note with a broken pencil.

She collected her things, patted her jacket for her wand and, assured that it was still safely stowed away in her pocket, closed the door behind her and locked the door with the key she hadn't bothered to take out of the keyhole. The jingling bits of metal fell into her pocket as she picked up her suitcase and settled into the cab. The one way plane ticket slid halfway out of her coat pocket as she rearranged herself in the seat.

"Heathrow Airport, please."

—

"What do you mean, 'she left?'" Ginny demanded.

Her hands gripped the edge of the kitchen table she leaned over, glaring at her brother as she shrugged off Harry's attempts to calm her. The card addressed to the Weasley family on the table toppled over, closing in on itself and Hermione's neat writing inside.

"Why didn't you tell her to stay? You could've gone with her, at least!"

"I did tell her to stay! And I did try to go with her!" Ron retorted, crossing his arms across his chest defensively where he sat in his chair. "She didn't want help or anything. Besides, how hard can it be, finding two Muggles in Australia?"

Ginny opened her mouth, but Harry was quicker. "Voldemort's dead, Ginny," said Harry, his voice harsh. "The Death Eaters have been disbanded and all of them have been sent to Azkaban or have gone into hiding. Nothing is going to happen to Hermione. It's Australia, Gin. If she does get into a bit of trouble, she knows we're here for her if she can't get out of it."

Ginny swallowed heavily, speechless with anger as she glared at the both of them in turn. Growling her frustration, she snatched the card off the table and stormed up the stairs to her room.

"Ginny!" shouted Ron, his chair tipping backwards as he stood up. "Where are you going?"

"Away from you!"

Harry clasped his hand on his best friend's shoulder, stopping Ron from following Ginny upstairs. "I'll sort it out with her, alright?"

Ron fought with himself but logic won out. He nodded with an aggravated sigh, put his chair upright and sat down in it again.

"Ginny?" Harry held his breath, his knuckles tapping lightly against the door. It swung open, revealing Ginny sitting on her bed, her knees drawn up as she examined the card Hermione had left as a good-bye to the Weasleys. Harry stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Did you know she was leaving?" Ginny asked, her tone accusing as she looked up from the card.

Harry frowned. "I knew she was going to leave some time sooner or later," he replied as he crossed the room. "Ron told me the night before she left, he was pretty upset." He sat down on the bed beside her and wrapped his arm around Ginny's shoulders. "I was actually sort of surprised she stayed as long as she did. I mean... She modified her own parents' memories. I know I'd want to go find them as soon as I could."

"I guess," Ginny muttered. She straightened out of Harry's half-embrace to look at him carefully. She held her gaze level with his for a while and then turned away, staring at the floor.

"I'm surprised," said Harry thoughtfully, glancing down at Ginny. "When I told you I had to hunt down Voldemort, you didn't make as much of a fuss about it."

"Yeah, well," Ginny sighed, her tone nonchalant as she leaned back into him, "You had help. And it's not like my mother didn't try to trip you up. It just makes me mad that Ron let her go so easily."

"Like you let me go?"

"It's not the same, Harry." Ginny pulled away from him again and shrugged ruefully. "I guess I'm a little mad at her for leaving without really saying goodbye. At least I had time to say goodbye with you."

BANG! Their gazes jerked to the ceiling at the sound of an explosion originating from Bill's room upstairs, the walls shuddering around them.

"Let's see what George is doing." Ginny suggested suddenly as she leapt off the bed. "Last one there's got dinner chores tomorrow!"

"Hey, not fair!"

But then, Ginny never said that Apparating didn't count.


	2. Trouble at the Burrow

**Trouble at the Burrow**  
_Two months later, The Burrow_

Ginny scowled as she opened her eyes to the gloomy sky above her and slowly extracted herself from the ground. Her jaw set in determination; she wiped the flecks of mud and rainwater from her face as she remounted onto Ron's Cleansweep Eleven. A swift and firm kick of her feet and she shot off the ground, initiating the latest manoeuvre of her own design with the Quaffle tucked securely under her arm. She streaked across the lawn, dodging invisible opponents as she inverted, dove, and spiralled to the goal she successfully and spectacularly scored.

"I thought you weren't supposed to be playing Quidditch," Harry remarked dryly from the ground, his arms crossed.

Ginny shrugged sheepishly as she swooped down and caught the Quaffle before it landed, allowing herself to smirk a little. "Don't say you weren't impressed by that last score," she retorted as she let her broom drift, steering her way towards Harry with her knees. "What Mum doesn't know can't hurt her."

A speculative brow rose. "I'd say a lot of what someone doesn't know can hurt them," Harry corrected her thoughtfully.

Ginny scowled softly, muttering some complaint about him being too serious.

"C'mon, let's get you inside before you catch a cold." Harry grabbed onto her broomstick and clapped his hand firmly on her shoulder before Ginny could zoom off.

"But it's not even that cold –"

"I won't tell your mum," Harry whispered tersely, steering her inside. "But next time I find you playing Quidditch before the Healers give their go-ahead, I will." He cut off her protest with a look. "You don't know how much time the Healers and Hermione spent trying to revive you –"

"Yeah," spat Ginny angrily, shrugging free of Harry's controlling grasp on her shoulder, "I know, I've got the scars to prove it." She pulled back the sleeve and thrust forward her bare arm for Harry to see, watching as Harry flinched away.

"You can't just keep using work as an excuse, Harry. You haven't seen me for nearly a month; you've been burying yourself in as much work as you can find and take on as many assignments as Kingsley can give you while helping George at the shop so you can avoid me. And now," Ginny's temper was in full swing, "you have the gall to tell me what it is I should and shouldn't do?!"

He glanced at the pink scars and pushed Ginny's arm down, her sleeve sliding over it and covering it from sight. "In case you haven't noticed, Ginny, I'm doing my damned best to arrest the people who did this to you. I'm –"

"You're _what_," Ginny spat, "doing these manhunts all on my behalf?" Ginny laughed sarcastically. "What a great knight in shining armour you are."

Harry spluttered, trying to formulate a retort to Ginny's sudden outburst but Ginny had already stalked away from him and Apparated upstairs to her room. It wasn't until a few minutes later that he realised that he was no longer in possession of the Cleansweep.

—

"Women!" Harry threw his hands up in exasperation as he paced the length of his office while Ron lounged in his chair behind the desk. "Why do they have to be so infuriating?"

Ron tossed the Quaffle Harry had confiscated from Ginny into the air. "Search me, mate. Mine's in Australia and well... Ginny's my sister."

"Funnily enough, I figured that one out myself, thanks."

Ron grimaced. "Look, she's probably sick of being cooped up at The Burrow all day and night. It's not like you're ever there either."

"That's because I'm busy!"

"If you're not here, you're off hunting the next lead on You-Know-Who's remaining supporters. At least I make it back for dinner every night." Ron set the Quaffle aside and leaned back in the chair.

"Yeah, and I bet you have a good and long standing relationship with Hermione who's off in Australia," Harry retorted sarcastically.

Ron stared at him, his face turning pale.

"Sorry, Ron, I didn't mean that."

"No, you meant it, Harry." Ron shook his head and stood up, straightening his robes as he moved to the door. "But at least we're not avoiding each other like you're avoiding Ginny."

"I'm not avoiding her!" Harry retorted defensively.

"Yes, you are!" shouted Ron, his patience gone. "I know you're all caught up in this Death Eater hunting business, but you're going overboard, even for you. I don't know what's going on between you and Ginny, but whatever it is, sort it out."

The door swung open and Ron stepped out, pulling the door closed behind him. It squeaked to a halt before it closed as he looked over his shoulder at Harry in afterthought.

"Look, my mum's been asking me about getting you to the Burrow for dinner so if you decide to come, send me a memo."

Harry sighed as he leaned back in his office chair and stared at the door. If only Hermione was around to sort out his girl troubles like she always did. But it would be cruel to seek Hermione's advice in the matter when she herself had her own problems to contend with.

He frowned and pulled open a drawer of his desk, rummaging through it in search of the last letter Hermione had written and checked the date. _September 28._ It was already the second of November. His growing paranoia invited scenarios into his mind involving Death Eaters trying to get one last rise out of Harry Potter, each one more gruesome than the last. His hand raked through his unruly black-brown hair as he read Hermione's last letter.

_Please don't write too often – I'm not sure if the neighbours can handle too many owls._

He pulled a sheet of parchment from his desk and dipped his quill. He paused for a moment with his quill poised and began the short memo, addressing it to Ron. After all, if there was anyone who would know about Hermione, it would be Ron. And it would be nice to see Ginny again.

—

"Did Harry say when he'd be here?" Mrs Weasley asked as she orchestrated the cutlery and cleaning in the kitchen with the occasional flick of her wand.

"Not really," replied Ron, shrugging as he hung up his jacket. "Said he hoped to be back before dinner but he might be caught up at the Office so we should start without him."

Ron's attention was quickly diverted from the dinner preparations to Ginny who came trudging down the stairs. She glanced briefly at Ron and her mother and proceeded to the living room. "Ron –" said Mrs Weasley wearily. "I know." Ron trudged after Ginny, the Chudley Cannons' latest Quidditch match scores forgotten. "Hey," he greeted tentatively as he picked up a throw pillow and sat down on the loveseat next to the couch Ginny lounged on. "What're you reading?"

"Poetry."

"Really?"

"Mm hm."

"Any good?"

"It's alright."

"Good."

"You said that already."

Ginny glanced over her book. Ron looked around helplessly and then opened his mouth – but Ginny had already anticipated it.

"Cannons lost. Their Seeker managed to get the Snitch to end the embarrassment, though. Bit of a miracle, really."

"Oh."

Ginny glanced at Ron as she tucked her hair behind an ear and straightened in her seat. She marked her page and set her book aside, sliding it safely between the cushions away from Ron's prying eyes.

"If this is about last night..." she began uncertainly.

"No, not really." Ron shook his head and leaned back. "Well... sort of," he amended sheepishly. "What were you doing out there? Just practising some Quidditch?"

"Yeah," she affirmed mildly with a small sigh of relief, "been trying some of the new plays I thought of when I was feeling half-decent and stuck in bed." Her brows knitted delicately in frustration, but the dark expression vanished and was replaced by one of pleasant surprise when she reflexively caught the Quaffle casually tossed to her.

"Feel up to giving it a try with me Keeper?"

—

It was an exhausting thirty minutes of satisfying Quidditch practise during which Ginny scored more often than not despite Ron's best efforts. Even George, Charlie, and Percy watched and cheered Ginny and Ron on from their spectator seats on the back porch.

When they were called in for dinner, Ginny noted with disappointment as she sat down at the table Harry's absence.

"He's probably just held up, he'll be here any minute," Ron whispered assuredly.

Ginny nodded and shrugged as dinner was started.

The table seemed to erupt with questions, compliments and criticisms about Ginny's performance in the short practise with Ron. Even Percy stiffly remarked that she could beat half of the league's Chasers with talent alone. The discussion lasted until George commented, "That last score was brilliant! For a second I thought you were going to fall off your broom," upon which Mr and Mrs Weasley's faces turned ashen

"What's this about falling off your broom?" Mrs Weasley demanded, her voice shrill with anxiety. "Just because the Healers gave their permission this morning for you to be 'participating in mild physical activities and athletic pursuits'," she quoted, "does not mean you are in free reign to undo all of the work and time spent recovering!"

"Oh, come on, mum," said George, "we were all there in case something happened."

"Ginny's not pushing herself too hard anyway," added Charlie. "She's playing on the safe side of things from what I've seen of her flying." That, to Ginny's immense gratitude, convinced Mrs Weasley to allow her to continue practising Quidditch. But when Mrs Weasley was about to announce whatever stipulation she was considering, it was interrupted by the knocking at the door.

"I'll get it," Mr Weasley announced as he pushed back his chair. He strode over to the door and swung it open. "Harry! It's good to see you!"

"I'm not late, am I?" asked Harry quietly as he clutched a small bouquet of flowers.

"Of course not," Mr Weasley assured as he ushered Harry inside. "We were just starting dinner. Here, I'll take those."

"Thanks, Mr Weasley." Harry shrugged off his jacket and sat down at the table beside Ginny who was giving a self-satisfied smirk at Ron.

"That's brilliant, Ginny," Ron beamed. "Maybe we can all have a match after dinner."

"What sort of match?" Harry asked, eyeing Ron suspiciously over Ginny's head.

"Quidditch!" George answered. "The Healers say it's alright for Ginny to play now."

"That's fantastic! When did you find out?"

"This morning," Ginny replied quietly. "It was –"

But whatever she was about to say was muffled by an exuberant hug from Harry.

"Oy, gerroff!" she growled as she pushed playfully away from him to turn her attention to her dinner and dug in with ferocious enthusiasm.

Harry laughed as she blushed profusely.

"That's it," Ron heartened with a grin, "just like a Weasley."

Harry initiated a round of compliments to Mrs Weasley's cooking as the table fell silent, everyone too involved with their food to strike up a conversation worth continuing.

"Ron, have you heard from Hermione lately?" he asked, cleaning off his plate.

Ron looked up, his mouth half-stuffed with food.

Harry couldn't help but grin, some things just never changed.

Ron hastily swallowed and washed it down with a gulp of water. "Not since early October, mate." He gave Harry an inquiring look. "Why?"

"No reason," Harry mumbled with what he hoped was a convincing shrug of nonchalance as he ignored the thoughtful and penetrating stare from Ginny beside him. "Well, I guess I better get my kit for that match tonight," he stated and pushed back his chair, moving to the kitchen to set his plate in the sink.

The others followed suit except for Ginny who remained at the table as Charlie took her plate for her. She sent him a surprised and inquiring look.

"What're you waiting for?" said Charlie. "Get your kit on and start warming up. I'll take care of this."

Ginny grinned her thanks and bolted up the stairs without another second's hesitation.


	3. Back to the Beginning

**Back to the Beginning**  
_Sydney, Australia_

She broke the surface and gasped hungrily for air, sweet oxygen filling her lungs and feeding her pounding heart. The sea rippled around her as she sat up and wrapped her arms around her trembling body in the dark. Her fingers brushed across damp cheeks. She blew a shuddering sigh past her puffy chapped lips as she pushed back the covers and swung her legs off the side of the bed, her bruised knee hitting the bedside cabinet.

She reached blindly and fumbled in the dark for the light that illuminated with a soft click of the switch. Her fingers ran through her hair, pulling it back and tucking it firmly behind an ear as she picked up the photograph that had fallen on its face. She smiled faintly at the picture of her younger self and her parents waving enthusiastically at her as she wiped the thin film of dust off the glass surface with her tear-stained sleeve and set it back down next to the digital clock that displayed 2:46 in subdued green light.

Hermione sighed as she drew the cabinet drawer open and reached inside for the amber-tinted plastic container that lay within. Her fingers ghosted over the carved wooden box that lay snug against the side of the drawer. A well-worn book of poems lay next to it where the pill case rested on its leather cover. She unscrewed the cap and tapped out a small caplet and closed the container, tucking it away in its drawer. She stared blankly at the pill lying innocently in the palm of her hand for a moment and slid the tiny capsule between her teeth, tilted her head back, and swallowed.

She pulled the covers over herself and the light clicked off.

—

Hermione sipped her latte as she pored over reams of newspapers spread out on the table before her, scanning for a sign of her parents' dental clinic or an advertisement, something about a Wendell or Monica Wilkins — the monikers she had implanted in her parents' memories. She sighed as she closed the newspaper, her eyes shutting tightly and her fingers pressing against the bridge of her nose.

"You look frustrated."

Hermione's eyes flew open at the sound of Harry's London accent and fixed on his green eyes.

"Harry!" Hermione's seat skidded backwards as she stood and pulled him into a fierce hug. "What are you doing here?"

Harry chuckled, returning her embrace warmly. "It's been a long time, Hermione."

"Yeah..." Hermione murmured awkwardly as she stepped back and took her seat as Harry did the same. "How are you? How's Ginny?"

Harry eyed the coffee shop they sat in with a thoughtful expression on his face. "I'm doing well," he said, smiling. "Ginny's doing fine. She wanted to visit you, too, but she hasn't got her Apparation test so we decided she should just stay at the Burrow for now in case you weren't actually here."

"Oh." Hermione mumbled, trying not to let her disappointment show as her feet fidgeted under the table. "I didn't know you were looking for me. I would have said something about it in my letters. I... Wait a minute," her eyes narrowed in on Harry's face suspiciously. "How did you find me?"

Harry turned pink. "I had someone look for you."

"Someone like Kreacher, you mean." Hermione glared at him in reproof.

"Well, you said you didn't want us to owl you..."

Hermione sighed exasperatedly. "Owling less doesn't mean not owling at all!"

"Oh."

They sat in heavy silence. Hermione ran a finger over the rim of her latte cup in the absence of conversation, her gaze flitting from one corner of the table to the other.

"Ginny's playing Quidditch again," said Harry abruptly, eager to break the uneasy silence. "I'm not sure if she can get enough of it now that she's been cleared with the Healers."

Hermione brightened at the news of Ginny's recovery. "So she's doing well? No problems with her arm at all?"

"Not so far as I can tell. She's spending every moment she can playing Quidditch," Harry replied with a grin. His grin fades as he scanned the Muggle newspapers lying on the table in front of him. "I guess you haven't found your parents yet." It wasn't a question.

"No." Hermione sighed and pulled back her brown hair from her eyes, half aggravated, half bemused. "All the places I thought they'd be, they're not there. It's almost like they knew to stay hidden in case Voldemort went after them."

Harry leaned back in his chair, studying Hermione's face carefully. "So, what are you doing in the meantime? How're your N.E.W.T. classes? Blown away all the professors at school yet?" He grinned.

Hermione laughed half-heartedly. "I left; two weeks ago," she whispered so quietly that Harry wasn't quite sure he heard correctly. "I'm working as a receptionist at a dental clinic down the street instead." She glanced up at Harry. "It makes it easier to track down all the dentists in the region," she explained, seeing Harry's blank expression, "since they all have to know each others' numbers and refer their patients to specialists."

"So you're working as a receptionist at a Muggle dentist's office instead finishing your N.E.W.T.s and becoming a Healer?"

"Y-yeah," Hermione affirmed unsteadily. "I'm not sure if being a Healer really suits me. Anyway," she went on, changing the subject, "It helps working at the office, it really makes it easier to find other dentists." She tried to ignore Harry's somewhat disbelieving stare, looking at the clock on the wall instead. "I have to go, work starts in a few minutes. It was really nice of you to come by, Harry. Tell Ron I said hi?" She folded up the newspaper in front of her hurriedly. "If you want you can visit my flat when I get off work at six o'clock."

"Yeah, sure, I'll do that," Harry nodded, forcing a smile. "That's 8 o'clock London time, isn't it?"

"7 o'clock," said Hermione distractedly as she gathered the newspapers into a haphazard pile and stuffed them into her canvas tote bag. "And Harry?"

"Yes?"

"I don't mind the company, but just owl me next time."

—

Six and a half hours later, Hermione returned to the small café on her lunch break, sipping yet another latte at the same newspaper-strewn table. The repetitiveness of it was comforting. It was dependable.

A sheet of parchment neatly cut to A4 size and a fountain pen lay in front of her, staring at her accusingly. She stared back. Picking up the pen and turning it in her hands, she held it poised over the parchment and slowly began to write the first letter she had written to the Weasleys for nearly a month.

At first, the words came slowly, seeming fragile and detached but the more she wrote, the more the words began to flow from the tip of her fountain pen. Her brows furrowed as she leaned closer to the paper, her nose only inches from the sheet, breathing in the scent she loved of fresh parchment.

She leaned back in her chair and surveyed the lines she had written on the parchment, proofreading it as the ink dried. Her current address was included in the letter if they wished to contact her and, as an afterthought, she added the phone number to her flat at the bottom. Hopefully by now Ron understood that it was unnecessary to yell into the telephone receiver.

With another sip of her latte, her mind drifted to how this whole mess came about, to when it really, truly began.

—

On one particularly stuffy summer day two weeks after the school holidays had begun, eleven-year-old Hermione Jean Granger sat by the windowsill of her bedroom, her hazel-brown eyes momentarily taking a break from the heavy volume of Fantastic and Mythological Creatures in her lap and stared out the window, her cheek resting on a fist propped up on the sill. Observant eyes scanned the bright horizon, latching onto the occasional pigeon that flew away from its flock overhead until she stared at a dark speck in the distance she was sure was gradually getting larger and with every passing moment, closer. She carefully set the book down on her bed and perched on her chair, watching the bird with mounting excitement.

She sprang forward to the latch on the window, unlocking it and turning the crank that squeaked and groaned in protest. An owl! She gaped at it. She had read about them in her very own encyclopedia safely stashed away in her already overflowing bookshelf. She knew that owls only flew at night, so she was puzzled over why this particular owl was flying in broad daylight. When it released something that flew in through the open window, she could scarcely believe it. An owl, making deliveries? She watched as the object slid to a halt on the windowsill and when she looked down to examine it, she was astonished to find it was an envelope that was, in fact, addressed directly to her.

_Miss H. Granger_  
_Second Bedroom  
12 Gratton Dr.  
Windsor  
Berkshire_

She turned it over and squinted at the seal, the purple wax bearing a coat of arms consisting of a lion, a serpent, a raven, and a badger. Hands shaking slightly in excitement, she carefully pried the wax seal off the heavy parchment envelope and pulled out its contents. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," she read aloud to herself in a whisper, her eyes glowing as she scanned the rest of the letter, her smile growing increasingly vibrant with every word she read.

"Mum! Dad!" she shouted and darted out the door and down the stairs, waving the letter wildly over her head as she skidded into the kitchen and thrust it on the dining table. "Look! I got an acceptance letter! I want to go to this school! I want to go to Hogwarts!"

"But you haven't gotten all of your letters back," her mother reasoned, taking the parchment from Hermione and frowned disapprovingly as she read it. She read it a second time before handing it to her husband whose initial reaction was almost identical.

Dr. Granger exchanged a smile with his wife. "Hermione, is this the book club that you were talking about starting all summer with your friends?"

Hermione shook her head, frowning up at her father. "No, my club's about tigers in captivity at the London Zoo. They're not treating them properly." She explained the needs of tigers with exasperated patience to her father, so enamored in her explanation that she missed the look of amusement and bemusement on her father's face as he glanced up at his wife for support.

"Hermione, this is absolute nonsense," her mother said firmly, "Do you realise the sacrifices that your father and I have made for you to go to a respectable school?"

"But you said –"

"I said," Dr. Granger repeated carefully, "you may choose from the schools you sat exams for, not some school you made up in your daydreams."

"But I didn't..." Hermione trailed off overwhelmingly nonplussed with anger. She looked at her father for support but, seeing none, stormed away, locking herself in her bedroom.

That night, Hermione lay restless in her bed, frowning as she heard the soft indiscernible mumbling of her parents' discussion downstairs. Torn between her insatiable curiosity and what she knew was wrong, she sighed and sat up, glaring furiously at the wall. She threw off the blankets and crept out of her room, tiptoeing down the stairs until she could see a clear view of the living room from between the balusters of the stairs.

"Well, you know, this does sort of explain those incidents at school," her father sighed. The couch creaked beneath him as he shifted.

Hermione could almost hear her mother frown disapprovingly. "But she's a half-mediocre student. Her teachers tell me she's always got her nose in those fantasy books; she doesn't pay attention in class. If we didn't speak with her teachers last year, she would have been held back! She's only eleven years old and she's already setting herself up for failure."

"She just hasn't found what she's interested in yet, that's all."

"This is Junior school we're talking about, not University!"

"It was only this past year that things have gone downhill," Hermione's father relented. "Look, the doctor said she has an eidetic memory. She can repeat and rewrite anything she sees or hears verbatim so the only reason I can see why she isn't doing well in school is because she sees no reason to. Quite frankly, I think we should let her go — she's never been this excited about school before. Maybe she'll make some friends. You know how important that is to her. Besides, we've received most of the letters from the schools she sat exams and none of them are accepting her. You can't just rely on the two schools she might be accepted to. This is the only half-decent school –"

"Half-decent school?" Dr. Granger repeated incredulously, her voice hysterically shrill. "We don't even know if this school exists! Have you looked at this?"

The parchment in Dr. Granger's hand crackled as she waved it in front of her husband's face.

"This is witchcraft! Do you want our daughter to be raised as a witch? Have you thought about what people will say if she goes to this school? We decided to raise her with standards and good beliefs and a real support system since the very day she was born! I can't believe we're even having this conversation! Hermione is going to a real school, none of this Hogwarts nonsense! I will not have my daughter being called a witch! She will grow up and have a practical, safe education so she can live any way she likes without prejudice."

If there was anything that was said after that scathing tone of finality in her mother's voice, Hermione never got to hear it. The floorboards creaked as Dr. Granger's rose to her feet and Hermione scrambled up the stairs to her room, shutting the door behind her. She sat there with her back against the door in silent contemplation. Her heart pounded in her ears as her mind buzzed and she fought the tears in her eyes.

Maybe her mother was right. After all, she hadn't heard of anyone considering a witch as good. And she wasn't anything special. She couldn't do anything magical or fantastic.

But what if she could be a wizard? Merlin was a wizard and he was good. Maybe she could be a wizard and free creatures like the tigers at the zoo if she studied hard enough. And if she studied hard enough, perhaps she could save herself from becoming a failure.

It wasn't until the next day when they sat down at the table to eat lunch that the subject was brought up again.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Mum, dad," she looked at her parents on either side of her in turn, "I really want to go to Hogwarts." She trembled when she looked at her mother so she spoke to her salad plate instead.

"I know I haven't been doing well in school lately but... I know I'll do well at Hogwarts. You always taught me to keep an open mind and pursue what I want to do." She bit her bottom lip, her short speech finished as she looked at her still unconvinced parents with begging eyes. "Is there anything – anything at all – that I can do to convince you?"

Hermione's mother studied her child, ignoring her husband's sheepish shrug and smile of encouragement. "Will you study hard and do as best you can?"

Hermione nodded vigorously. "I promise I'll be top of my year."

Her mother sighed and leaned back in her chair. "We will consider it," her mother finally stated. "After," she added with a sharp look at her husband, "the other schools reply."

In the end, all of the schools Hermione sat entrance exams rejected her, claiming that her academic prowess was lacking.

Within the week, a severe-looking woman arrived at their front doorstep and introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts. It was through her patient but clipped persuasion that the importance of Hermione's attendance at Hogwarts was impressed upon her parents who ultimately resigned themselves to allow her to attend the magical school. Before long, Hermione was poring over every book about magic she could get her hands on while her parents went through pamphlet after pamphlet bearing such titles as Career Opportunities for the Budding Witch and Wizard with obsessive care.

On the first of September, she followed the Magical Muggle Orientation Representative into a post on Platform 9 at King's Cross station to board a magical train to take her to the school of her dreams. Every last detail about the school seemed to be embedded in her memory from the book she had eagerly yet regretfully paid for with the money she had been saving up to free the tigers from the London Zoo.

The rest was history.

Staring into the cup of coffee with a small frown, Hermione pursed her lips together and squinted outside at Sydney's late spring sunshine. Not for the first time in her nineteen years, she privately entertained the thought that perhaps her mother was right about Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry after all.


	4. Late Night Visitors

**Late Night Visitors**

Hermione peered into a mug of steaming tea as the cheap plastic clock that hung crooked on the wall ticked the seconds that passed. Blowing gently on the hot liquid, she inhaled the aroma with a deep breath. Her eyes wandered to the dark corners of her tiny flat, illuminated only from the night lights streaming through the windows from the small rickety metal table she sat at, shunted in the corner of the hopelessly small kitchenette.

The energetic hum of the café downstairs had died down for the night and the tell-tale pop of Apparation could be heard from the other side of the battered metal door to her flat, breaking the silence. Her body tensed, rigid in a half-standing, half-sitting position as her hand instinctively reached for her absent wand, poised in the decision of fight or flight.

There was a shuffle on the landing outside followed by a quiet knock. "Hermione?" Ron's voice came muffled through the door.

Hermione released the breath she had been holding as she relaxed and approached the door to unlock it. The door was tugged open and she smiled at Ron, sinking into his arms.

"You came," she whispered into his robes and then slowly pulled away. "Hello, Harry." She beamed at the both of them and then seemed to realise that they were still standing out on the landing.

"Come in, come in." She ushered them inside and shut the door behind her. "Tea?"

Without waiting for a response, Hermione led them through her dismally furnished living room – which could easily have fitted into Harry's old bedroom at Privet Drive – to the kitchenette. She set out a pair of mugs from a cupboard and poured tea as she steadfastly ignored their wide-eyed examination of her tiny flat.

"Why's it so dark?" asked Ron suddenly as he pulled his Deluminator out of his pocket, not listening to Hermione's muttering about electricity.

He clicked it open and suddenly, the kitchen was bursting with impossibly bright light from the broken chandelier hanging over the table. He looked around, uncomfortable in his surroundings as Hermione shielded her unaccustomed eyes to the light, his opinions of Hermione's flat verbally withheld in the awkward silence that ensued.

Harry busied himself with magically drawing up a set of chairs at the table and cramming them in to fit.

"How's Auror training?" Hermione broke the silence as she set their mugs down on the table in front of them.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances as they sat down.

"Well," Harry began bracingly, "it's been tough. We have the names, it's just a matter of tracking them down. The Ministry's being turned inside out at the same time so it's just chaos right now." Harry launched into a detailed account of the latest arrests and the politics involved with the reformed Ministry of Magic.

"Any word of the Lestranges?"

Harry shook his head grimly. He stared fixatedly into his tea.

"So..." said Hermione into the quiet that had fallen over them. "How's Ginny?" Her soft voice cut the silence.

Harry shared a smirk with Ron at the mention of Ginny. "She's doing alright," he answered. "She's been trying to break out of the Burrow lately."

"Yeah, well, I would too if I was stuck in that madhouse day and night for the past year," added Ron, sounding relieved. "She's getting loads better at Quidditch than she was last year, though. I reckon she's been practising every chance she gets when Mum's not fussing over her."

"Yeah," Harry enthused, "but she's just fantastic now."

"She's brilliant," said Ron, his enthusiasm gushing into his voice. "She's hoping to get into the league trials now and I'd bet a Galleon to a Knut that she'll make a team. She can even outfly Harry and Charlie on my Cleansweep now!"

Hermione smiled. "Making up for lost time, I suppose."

Ron nodded vigorously. "She's even designed a few new plays; there's really no stopping her."

Harry and Ron tried to give a play-by-play of the latest and the most inventive of all of Ginny's new manoeuvres, but the only thing Hermione managed to gather from their detailed explanations was that Ginny was always a near hair away from falling or crashing to her demise.

_But then_, Hermione reflected, _that's what Quidditch mostly consists of anyway_. "So you got my owl?"

"Yeah, my dad's probably taking apart that pen thing you sent with it. He says thanks, by the way."

Hermione grinned at that. "Tell him he's welcome."

"That reminds me," Harry muttered, rummaging in his jacket pockets for a moment before he pulled out a crudely folded piece of parchment. "I meant to send this, but I figured since we were going to visit anyway..." He trailed off with a shrug and slid the parchment forward on the table.

Hermione turned it over in her hands, running her fingers over the crisp creases in the paper.

"It's from Ginny," Harry explained at Hermione's questioning look. "She wanted me to send it as soon as I found out where you were, but I kept forgetting."

Harry checked his watch. "Anyway, I have to go; Kingsley wants to go over some tactical security measures over lunch. Thanks for tea and everything." Harry stood, Hermione and Ron a split second slower as they rose to their feet.

"No problem, Harry."

He led the way to the door and stepped outside onto the landing. "Well," he said, turning around to face them. "I'll see you later."

And with a soft pop, he Apparated away, leaving Hermione and Ron staring at empty air.

"He hasn't changed much," noted Hermione with a hint of wryness in her voice as she shut the door.

Ron chuckled and shook his head ruefully in agreement. "Just as obsessed with the Defense Against the Dark Arts as always."

Smiling sheepishly, Hermione rolled her eyes as she let her sauntering path back to the kitchenette collide with Ron's. "Well, I suppose I only encouraged him with that whole DA thing," she mumbled as she led him into the bedroom by the arm.

"You were brilliant."

"You think so?"

—

Hermione pulled away with a smile and leaned back, her hand gripping the edge of the mattress. "I'm not sure we should –"

"I know."

They smiled at each other ruefully.

"I better go," Ron whispered softly, out of breath as he glanced down at his watch. He gave her a sheepish smile and leaned forward, kissing her again.

"Late for work?"

He nodded. "Harry's going to have a fit if I don't get back soon."

Hermione sighed as she swung her legs off the edge of the bed. Her jumper lay on the floor not far from her feet and she leaned over to pick it up as Ron stood and smoothed out the creases in his robes.

"So..." she began.

"I'll see you sometime?"

"Yeah." Hermione pulled the jumper on over her head. "I'll write. Or maybe you can convince Harry to enchant a telephone to dial directly to my flat."

Ron nodded absently. "Yeah, that sounds good."

They fiddled with their garments, trying to stall for time as they slowly moved around the tiny bedroom of Hermione's flat, edging around each other as they meticulously adjusted their clothing in silence.

"Hermione?"

"Hm?"

"When will you come back to the Burrow?"

Hermine's hands froze at the second button of Ron's robes. She looked away as she hastily brushed invisible dust off his broad shoulders. "I don't know," she replied softly. "When I find my parents, maybe." She smiled weakly up at him and then stepped back to survey her work.

"Yeah, alright," he heaved, trying not to let his disappointment show as he stepped past her into the living room. "Reckon you'll find them soon?"

"Yeah," Hermione breathed, following him out. "Yeah," she repeated, reaffirming it with a nod. "It shouldn't be long now."

"You know, it'd take less time if you let Harry and me help you." He stared at a spot on the ceiling as he ignored Hermione's exasperated sigh.

"I told you before, Ron..."

"I know."

They looked at each other until Hermione let her gaze slide across the room.

"Well... I guess this is goodbye." Ron forced a smile as he stepped through the doorway and turned around on the landing of the narrow staircase that led up to Hermione's flat.

"For now."

They shared a smile and Ron Apparated away.

With a sigh, Hermione stepped off the landing and closed the door behind her, sliding the dead bolt lock in place.

She returned to the kitchen and collected the three mugs of cold tea and poured the remaining contents down the sink and picked up the folded parchment on the table. She unfolded it, her eyes skimming over the familiar handwriting as she turned off the lights and retired to the bedroom.


	5. The Lost Memory

**The Lost Memory**  
_For Remembrance_

"Harry?" She interrupted the quill-scratching quiet from where she sat sideways in the overstuffed chair at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, a Quaffle nestled snugly in her lap.

Harry looked up from behind his desk, pushing the bridge of his glasses up on his nose with a thin finger, his quill held poised mid-sentence. "Yes?"

"Will you ever tell me what happened?"

He frowned incomprehensibly as he watched her slide off the arm chair and cross the short distance to his desk. She halted, her fingertips resting idly on the glass surface he wrote on.

"What happened that night," she elaborated.

Harry sighed and set his quill down, wiping the ink-stains from his fingers with a rag. He knew exactly what 'that night' meant; Ginny had only been pestering Ron – much to Ron's dismay – about it for the past month. He shrugged and set the document he had be writing aside to dry. "Ginny," he replied patiently, "Ron's told you what happened a dozen times already."

"I know," she whispered and looked away, her expression distant. "But I want to hear it from you."

Harry relented under Ginny's imploring stare and leaned back in his chair. Hermione had warned him that Ginny would ask him to fill in the gaps in her memory. "Alright," he said. "How much do you remember?"

Ginny smiled thankfully and drummed her fingers as she considered the question with a thoughtful squint. "Mostly bits and snatches after I left the Room of Requirement."

Leaning forward and resting his chin on clasped hands propped up on the desk, he surveyed her carefully. Harry stood up with a sigh and walked around the desk to lead her gently by the arm back to the chair. He removed the Quaffle she left there and pulled up the ottoman and sat on it so that their faces were level with each other. She waited patiently, sitting down on the armchair and pulling up her legs into a cross-legged position on the overstuffed cushion.

"Ginny, I wasn't really there to see what happened to you," he warned.

She shook her head. "It's fine, I just want to know what you do remember."

Harry bit his lip as he searched his memory. "Well, we were all in the Room of Requirement trying to find the last Horcrux and..." He stopped when he saw the smirk on Ginny's face. "What?"

"Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived tells all of the fateful battle of Hogwarts and what really happened," Ginny mock-quoted as she waved her hands across an imaginary newspaper headline in the air between them. "Anyway, go on."

Harry grinned and obliged. "Well, anyway, Crabbe used Fiendfyre which destroyed the last Horcrux and then..." He paused, swallowing with difficulty before he recounted Fred's death. Ginny's face turned a shade paler as she looked away and listened in silence, nodding occasionally at the ghosted account of Harry's memory.

He told her of how he saw Snape's memories in the Pensieve, that he had survived a second Killing Curse, the way Neville drew the sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat and slew the snake with it. His eyes shone with admiration when he recounted the story of her mother defeating Bellatrix, refusing the help of any other witch or wizard. He could tell from her expression that she was vaguely disappointed at the lack of description or perhaps she was disappointed by the frequency of events involving her, he couldn't say. Some of his own memories were blurred by the adrenaline and the tunnel vision of determination he was influenced by throughout the battle.

When he finished, Ginny sat in silent contemplation, staring blankly at the wall. Privately, he was immensely relieved that she wasn't crying outright.

"So..." she said, her voice strained. She trailed off as Harry shifted on the ottoman with an expectant look on his face.

"If you want," he offered cautiously, "you could probably owl Hermione and ask what happened. I reckon she wouldn't mind."

Ginny breathed a soft chuckle. "I already did." She smirked as Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "The parchment I asked you to give her."

"Oh." Harry stood. "She asked about you when I visited yesterday, you know. Maybe you should write her more often."

Ginny nodded as she took the Quaffle back in her lap and she positioned herself sideways across the arms of the armchair and stared up at the ceiling. She bit her lip as she breathed deep, long controlled breaths. "Harry?" She twisted in the armchair to look at him. "Can I borrow your Firebolt?"

Harry blinked, halfway between his desk and the chair, caught off-guard. He hesitated briefly. "Yeah, sure, Ginny. It's in –"

"I know," she grinned and leapt off the chair to run upstairs to Sirius' old bedroom to retrieve it.

Since the end of the Second Wizarding War, the Black house had been completely renovated to suit Harry's tastes. Even the old portrait of Sirius' mother was removed, although how Kreacher managed to remove it was anyone's guess. Aside from the house's most basic structure, it was impossible to recognize that it had been the old Headquarters for the Order of the Pheonix.

Ginny let her eyes travel earnestly over the smooth ash wood handle, the gold trim, and the exceedingly well maintained tail twigs. Reverently lifting the Firebolt from the brackets and into her hands, she let her fingers glide over the diamond-hard polish, relishing in the perfection of the broomstick. The floorboards creaked behind her and she spun around sharply clutching the Firebolt's handle.

"Hi, Harry."

Harry smiled from the doorway and nodded his greeting as he watched Ginny turn her attention back to the Firebolt. "You can keep it for now, if you like," he said, his tone nonchalant as he looked away. He could see her shocked gaze jerk towards him in the corner of his eye. "I mean, it's not like I'm using it much now with work and everything. Besides, league trials are coming up. That is," he drifted off slightly, uncertainty in his voice, "if you plan –"

Ginny pulled him into a tight embrace, effectively silencing him, the Firebolt clutched in her gloved hand. "Thank you," she breathed through a smile. She stepped back a little, her bright brown eyes gleaming with excitement.

Harry grinned, watching her shift her weight from one foot to the other in eager anticipation of the night's treasures the Firebolt would bring her. With a rueful shake of his head, he stepped aside and let her pelt by, down the stairs, and out the door, a shouted, "Thank you!" called over her shoulder as the door closed behind her.

—

_"We make war that we may live in peace."_

– _**Aristotle**_

—

The wind swept through her flame-red hair as she sped through the forest, weaving between the trees and pitching around their thick branches, her heart racing with exhilaration at the pure adrenaline rush the Firebolt brought her. The early winter wind bit through the balaclava shielding her face from the chilling air that rippled through her robes.

Ginny smirked as she added an extra burst of speed, streaking by a clearing. She swerved around and braked hard, stopping inches from the thin sheet of frozen dew covering the forest floor. Grinning triumphantly, she affectionately rubbed the handle of the broomstick as she dismounted, her boots crunched down onto the frost-hardened earth. Breathing in the scenery in puffy white clouds, her gaze revelled in the warm sun beams shining through the bare winter trees. Slipping the bag from her shoulders, she set it down at the base of a nearby tree, propping the broomstick up against the trunk as she cleared a small spot with a swift kick of her feet.

She had been planning this escape from the Burrow for days and she woke up especially early that morning to get away from her omnipresent parents and her overprotective brothers. She pulled out some quilts enchanted with spells to keep her warm and dry and wrapped herself up in them, her calm bright brown eyes taking in her serene surroundings from where she sat. Her leather shin guards creaked as she stripped them off and tossed them into a pile, followed by a leather gauntlet. She tightened the remaining gauntlet absently around her arm as she shifted from her seat to rummage through her bag.

Retrieving one of Mrs. Weasley's home-made granola bars and a bottle of water, she bit into the fruit and grain bar as she began to plan her next move. It wasn't long until her eyelids drooped in the afternoon sun and the fatigue of an early morning caught up to her.

—

_"The blackbird sings to him, 'Brother, brother,_

_If this be the last song you shall sing,_

_Sing well, for you may not sing another;_

_Brother, sing.'"_

– _**Julian Grenfell, Into Battle**_

—

The dark sky and its looming clouds overhead were ignited by great flashes of green, red, violet, and blue as Hermione stumbled valiantly over the rubble of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, now turned battleground. She pulled back the strands of hair in her eyes as she searched the once familiar grounds in a low crouch, scurrying from one hiding place to the next as jets of light streaked by her.

She was left in the fray without purpose or direction, only to survive, the last Horcrux destroyed by Neville and the reappearance of Gryffindor's ruby-hilted sword. And Harry... She didn't dare think to believe that he had died at the hands of Lord Voldemort. She would never believe the lie.

A streak of red hair slipped by the corner of her eyes and she scrambled around the wreckage of the collapsed banister to follow it. Eyes hardening in resolve, she gripped her wand and ran forward, slipping on the emerald slime-covered floors as she determinedly made her way amidst the battle.

_Keep moving, breathe, think!_ She repeated the mantra to herself over and over under her short breath, letting it reverberate in her head, in her mind. Marble rock fragments blasted over her head, showering down on her as she ducked for cover.

She gritted her teeth, breathing deep and gathering her courage. She darted out, weaved to the next hiding place – her breath catching when she saw the glazed eyes of the dead body hidden there staring expectantly at her – then moved on in slow progression to the battlefront where Voldemort and his Death Eaters took on the Hogwarts defenders.

The wall exploded beside her and she flattened herself to the ground as bits and pieces flew with indiscriminate malice.

Her cheek bled from a cut, her ankle felt sluggish and her ears rung with a deafening silence as she dragged herself across the floor to the shelter of a fallen statue just as the spot she had been just seconds previous was replaced with a miniature crater. Panting and wiping the grime from her tear-encrusted face, she desperately clung to the walnut and dragon heartstring wand of Bellatrix Lestrange, wishing bitterly that it was her own vine wood wand she were wielding.

Anger welled in her as she caught glimpses of the Dark Lord, laughing as he cut down her comrades one after another. Without thought or rationality, she charged forwards, forgetting to duck for cover in her fury as jets of light whizzed by her, singeing her robes, her hair. Her wand waved wildly, casting unspoken jinxes and curses and hexes just as the ground beside her exploded and she was knocked aside. Her world spun as she pulled herself upright, only to realise that her hands were empty and her wand was missing.

She crouched and dove for cover, the Killing Curse crackling just inches from her as she fought the rising panic in her chest. Her fingers searched through rock and rubble, the liquids that had spattered across a newly collapsed marble column sickeningly warm against her skin. Her hands found something soft and flesh-like; her gaze followed it to a pair of empty eyes and she stared into them impassively. Her stomach rebelled and suddenly her last meal was on display in front of her. Her eyes darted to the corpse's wand hand and she pried the trivial looking wooden stick from the dead witch's fingers, whispering an unheard apology as she pulled her wits together and ran in Voldemort's direction, preparing herself for confrontation.

She tripped over rock, debris, and bodies but still she ploughed on, silently cursing at her tears which never seemed to end. Her cheek stung as the salty water mingled with blood, irritating her numbed sense of feeling as she crawled under the cover of a wrecked door. Minutes passed – was it minutes? It felt like seconds – as she caught her breath and then was on the move again.

She passed by Professor Slughorn, taking cover in the shadow of a fallen rock cavity as she stalked the path of the Dark Lord. She threw a hex overhead, then a jinx behind, a curse to the side. She cast another curse to clear the way, ducked, sidestepped, and laid low waiting for the cracks of spellwork to subside, then stood and started over again. It was a pattern, like weaving a quilt, knitting an intricate design of impossible prediction, as she gained ground with each heartbeat that pounded once, twice, then was lost forever.

A shrivelled leaf was crushed beneath the sole of her trainer as she moved forward and nearly stepped on Ginny Weasley's wand hand. She looked down mid-step and that second of hesitation cost her. A spell hit her square on the chest, throwing her back into a collapsed marble pillar. She slammed into it and crumpled to the floor, her wand clattering uselessly beside her as the world closed in on her.

A gentle hand on her shoulder shook her. "Hermione, wake up!"

Her head pounded as she groaned and came to at the centre of a rubble-filled hole. Her eyes focussed and unfocussed on blonde hair. For a heartbeat, she thought she was home, safe, warm, but the sizzling static air around her that buzzed with spells brought her to reality. "Luna?"

"Let's get you up, now."

Hazel-brown eyes gazed at the bleak, grey ground that stretched on in front of her, punctuated by the flashes of light and blazing tapestries that once hung high and proud from the beams of the Great Hall overhead, now ignited and reduced to nothing more than fuel for fire.

And then it all came back. Pain lanced through her. "Ginny," she uttered and burst forward, stumbling as she slipped on the uneven floor. Luna steadied her with a hand on her arm as Hermione scanned their despairing world, searching in her brief moment of respite.

Then, finally, she spotted the red-headed girl in the masses, battling her best from behind a fallen wooden beam. The knotted grain in the wood was blown away, splinters piercing angrily outwards at the spell-charged air as curses were thrown at it. The ground at Ginny's feet blasted away, showering everything within a few yards of it with dust as Bellatrix Lestrange raised the vine wood wand she wielded.

"_Avada Ked_–"

"_Stupefy!_" Hermione cried, lashing out her wand as she ran to Ginny's aid, Luna close behind.

Ginny spun to look for her saviours only be tackled to the ground by Hermione – "Get down!" – just as a bolt of blue crackled the air where she once was.

Luna threw a curse as they picked themselves off the floor and ran to safety. The beam behind them was obliterated into nothing more than matchsticks and sawdust as the ground exploded at their heels and they threw themselves behind the broken head of a toppled statue.

Crouched behind it, Hermione panted, wheezing as she gulped down dust-filled air and Bellatrix's footsteps drew nearer. The woman's cackling and taunting sounded like nails on a chalkboard as the three girls huddled together in wide-eyed indecision.

Hermione's heart pounded as a sick, dreading feeling took over her at the sight of her empty hands. Her wand was gone. She looked desperately back to their spell-scorched path, her hands cutting on the rock and debris as she scrambled and crawled on hands and knees to find it.

"_Crucio!_" shrieked the Dark witch, blasting the side of the disfigured statue head. Marble exploded and its pieces were sent rocketing outward like miniature missiles.

Hermione froze as she felt her arm drop to her side without her bidding and stared blankly at the deep gash in her arm where a rock fragment had embedded itself. She had expected it to drive her half-mad with pain, but no such feeling came. She clenched her jaw tightly in determination as she groped the ground, her numb, raw fingers of her left hand clumsily enclosing around the unfamiliar piece of finely crafted wood.

"_Lumos_," she whispered, but the wand merely sputtered and died in her unaccustomed hand, cracked down its length.

"Hermione!" Ginny gasped, her eyes wide on her horror stricken face at the sight of the gaping wound in Hermione's arm.

Another curse shook the ground beneath them and instinct told Hermione that it was time to abandon the statue.

Hermione nudged Luna. "Move!" She tossed aside the broken wand and dragged Ginny out from their hiding place by the sleeve, finding safety behind a half-destroyed desk from the Transfiguration Room army. They turned to look back just in time as a pillar creaked and groaned on its once solid pedestal and crashed to the ground with a resounding boom in a cloud of dust over their previous position.

"Luna!" cried Ginny, her voice strangled as she rose to run to the fallen pillar.

Hermione clasped her hand on Ginny's shoulder. "No, look," she pointed to a nearby pile of rock where Luna sat behind, panting.

Bellatrix shrieked infuriation at Ginny's well aimed jinx sent over a rock face.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

They dropped flat and dragged each other to the ephemeral safety of cover. "Hermione, your arm," Ginny moaned in despair as she tried to tend to it, but Hermione jerked out of reach.

"Later," she gasped breathlessly as she doubled over, panting as her pounding heart rung in her ears. "We have to move." Another curse scorched over their heads. "I'm going set up a diversion and get her attention elsewhere," she said between breaths as she began frantically formulating a plan her head.

Ginny's eyes hardened and her jaw set. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to get my wand back."

Ginny's hand clasped on her shoulder. "What about me?" Ginny's voice quivered as she yelled over the din, raw and hoarse.

Hermione hesitated, studying Ginny's determined and grim expression. "When I get close enough, disarm her."

"Wait, what?" Ginny yelped as they reflexively pressed their backs against the wall shielding them from Bellatrix's attacks as something was lobbed overhead and exploded only yards away.

Hermione shook her head. "Just find Luna, and stick together."

"But –"

"Be safe, Ginny." Hermione gave Ginny a fleeting encouraging smile and then launched from their hiding place, leaving Ginny's protests behind.

Ginny sprinted around a long pile of wreckage, using it as a shield between herself and Bellatrix as Hermione clamoured through the broken battleground, circling the witch until her vantage point was close enough.

Hermione slumped to the floor, her back against the smooth surface of an overturned table, counting her breaths as she sucked in oxygen hungrily. She peeked around the corner, watching Bellatrix whirl with a gleeful snarl.

"Come out, come out, Mudblood!" the witch sneered in a mocking sing-song voice, lashing out with an unspoken curse. Something fell from the ceiling with a thundering crash. Two screams rung out, and Hermione's heart leapt to her throat.

Barrelling recklessly out of cover, Hermione collided head-on into the witch, tackling Voldemort's lieutenant to the ground as she grappled for her wand.

"Give - that - back - to me!" Hermione roared, yanking her vine wood wand clumsily from Lestrange's clutches with her left hand. She flew backwards from a blow to the face, the wand sent spinning across the floor. She watched its path with despairing desperation as it came to an abrupt halt under a worn satin shoe belonging to Bellatrix Lestrange.

Vaguely, she heard Ginny and Luna scream her name as they raced towards her and she dragged herself backwards with her still functioning arm, her injured arm cradled against her chest as her eyes stared down the length of the wand in Bellatrix's hands. Her wand.

The subtle but elegant bevelled engraving that encircled and entwined the wand from handle to tip was clearer than ever now, the tiny chip in the finish at the side of its point from the time she was bowled over by a troll in the girl's bathrooms in her first year. She re-experienced the glorifying moment as if she found another piece of herself lying in a dusty old shop in Diagon Alley. The kind wandmaker nodded sagely at the wand's selection...

"Thought you could best me, Mudblood?" Bellatrix spat. "_Avada Ked–_"

"_Expelliarmus!_" Ginny bellowed, sending the wand flying as Hermione scrambled to her feet and ran for cover, the vine wood wand rising into the air and falling in a perfect arc into Ginny's outstretched hand.

"_Stupefy!_"

Luna and Ginny's combined spells sent Bellatrix flying backwards, foiling her attempt to pursue Hermione's frantic escape.

"Wait, Ginny!" Luna ran after Ginny, panting as Ginny skidded to a halt next to Hermione.

Ginny dropped carelessly to her scraped knees. "Hermione!" She grabbed the older girl by the shoulders and pulled her into a fierce hug. "What did you think you were doing?!" She withdrew sharply, her eyes wide as she scanned Hermione's bruised face, her hair matted with foreign blood.

Hermione smiled faintly and shook her head as she looked for Bellatrix's shadowy form, tugging her vine wood wand from Ginny's hands. "The last thing she would expect."

The earth rocked and shuddered beneath them, signalling it was time to move again.

"Let's go." Ginny's face was as grim as she helped Luna support Hermione and moved to the safety of a small blasted cavity in the wall. She lowered herself to the ground next to Hermione who sat between her and Luna in the lull of battle.

"Ginny, you shouldn't be here, we need to get you to –"

"Don't." Ginny's eyes flashed angrily as she set a finger on Hermione's lips to silence her. "Don't try to be like Harry and take me out of this battle. This isn't just yours or Harry's fight any more. You need my help."

Hermione's gaze flicked to Luna who sat beside her, panting, then stared at her lap in indecision. She sat up, straight, determined. "Let's go," she whispered, softly, firmly. She moved forward, Luna and Ginny following.

"What's the plan?" asked Luna. The ground shook from a spell that struck overhead and the cavity caved in behind them as a familiar cackle reverberated off the cracked stone floor in front of them.

"Move!"

They dashed to an over-turned table, aiming spells blindly in the general direction of the revived Bellatrix.

"_Crucio!_"

"_Impedimenta!_" Hermione retaliated as Ginny sent a jinx over her shoulder and Luna produced a Shield Charm. They pulled away from the table, taking cover from a pile of rubble.

Bellatrix stalked nearer, her spells blowing bits and pieces from the sides of the rock as Hermione panted for breath. Ginny and Luna threw curses, jinxes, and hexes one after another as Hermione lunged around the side of their shelter.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" yelled Hermione. "_Stupefy!_" Her eyes widened as she saw Bellatrix's lips move. "Split!"

She grabbed Ginny's hand, crushing it between her hand and her wand and dragged the girl towards her as Luna bolted in the opposite direction. The pile of rubble exploded, sending rocks torpedoing in every direction.

They scrambled over broken fragments of the Great Hall, dodging curses as they desperately retaliated with their own spells.

Ginny ducked under the Killing Curse, pulling Hermione down by the hand with her and then led the way over the rock-strewn ground. Their worn trainers slipped and slid over the unstable floor as pebbles and stones turned under their rubber soles.

"We've got to slow her down," Ginny shouted. "_Impedimenta!_" She flung the spell from her wand just as Hermione sent the Petrifying Spell.

Without pausing to see the results of their spells, they turned and climbed over something large and wooden, too disfigured for them to recognise.

"_Stupefy!_" they cried together and dropped behind it, out of sight.

"Did we get her?" Hermione panted as she twisted around where she crouched to catch a glimpse of the witch.

Ginny peered around the side. "I think so..." she answered, but her tone was heavy with doubt.

Tremulously staggering away from the safety of the smouldering wooden pile, Ginny searched for any sign of Bellatrix. Her head snapped around at a maniacal cackle from behind her. Her eyes stared down the pointed tip of the walnut and dragon heartstring wand she loathed so much, her eyes drifting to the wand's true owner.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

"Ginny –!"

Hermione's arms flew around the girl's slim waist as she bodily pushed Ginny to the ground. A jet of green connected with wood and with a sickening crack, Ginny's wand split and then shattered into countless pieces, embedding themselves like angry wasps indiscriminately into flesh. Pain lanced through her arm as she fell beside Ginny and she held her arm close to her heaving chest as she glared hatred at the pervertedly laughing witch.

"You foul, disgusting, loathsome, revolting whore!"

Her wand flew from the ground to her empty hand and she forced its point towards Bellatrix.

"_Cruc_ –"

"_Stupefy! Protego!_"

Red streaked past the unfinished Unforgivable Curse and connected squarely to Bellatrix's chest, sending the witch flying backwards. Somewhere in the distance, Hermione heard the crash of Bellatrix's fall and Mrs. Weasley's furious challenge. Her searing hot wand dropped from her barely functional hand and she turned over onto her side, ignoring the pain in her arm as she shook Ginny by the shoulder.

"Ginny. Ginny! Ginny, wake up!"

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she fumbled for a pulse. Her eyes darted to the girl's heavily bleeding arm and she grabbed her wand. "_E-Episkey!_" The wand burned at her fingers, the smell of her own burnt flesh making her dizzy. "_Episkey! Episkey!_" she whispered desperately, her voice shrill and hoarse as her wand spluttered in her burning hand.

Dropping her wand, Hermione began to murmur an incantation for healing magical wounds in a cracking voice as she slowly succumbed to her own wounds. "Dittany..." she whispered deliriously when she felt a hand rest on her shoulder, trying to call her back before her entire world was enveloped by blackness.

—

_"In war, there are no unwounded soldiers."_

– _**Jose Narosky**_

—

Hermione wept even in her sleep until finally, she jolted awake, her hands grabbing at invisible wands hidden in the sheets in the dead of night. Her brown hair fell forward like a veil over her face as she sat up, burying her damp face into empty hands.

_Pop_.

Her head jerked up from trembling fingers and she stared at the figure that approached her as familiar smelling robes wrapped around her and she clawed at them as sobs wracked through her body.

—

_What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?  
__Only the monstrous anger of the guns.  
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle  
Can patter out their hasty orisons._

_No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;  
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,  
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;  
And bugles calling for them from sad shires._

_What candles may be held to speed them all?  
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes  
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes._

_The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;  
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,  
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds._

–_** Wilfred Owen, Anthem for Doomed Youth**_


	6. A Late Early Morning

**A Late Early Morning**

Sunlight flooded through the cracks between the window frame and the frayed edges of the glowing blinds as shafts of light graced the corners of the room and crept across wooden floors. The yellowing stack of old newspapers in the corner next to the dresser shifted and softly whispered as a sheaf slid and pooled on the ground. A loose floorboard rattled as the sound of the coffee grinders below drifted in soft murmurs through the walls.

Through the living room, the door creaked open, then shut. The deadbolt slid locked as the brown paper bag slipped in her arms as its contents shifted. Kicking off her shoes at the door, she slid the bag bag onto the kitchen counter and set a pan on the stove. Turning the dial, the cooking element clicked on and she began to store the groceries away.

She put away the tins in the cupboards over the stove; the small carton of milk, block of cheese, eggs, and vegetables went into the mini-fridge. She left the loaf of bread out on the counter as her omelette sizzled in the pan. Three slices of bread slid into the toaster, two with the crusts cut off and she turned the omelette over.

"Morning," came a gruff voice from the living room. Dishevelled and sleepy-looking, Ron yawned hugely, his arms stretching to the ceiling as he breathed in the aromas of the kitchenette. "Already making breakfast?"

Hermione glanced up from the pan. "It's half-past nine already, Ron."

"Oh."

The omelette slid neatly off the pan and onto an awaiting plate. "Sleep well?"

Ron tilted his head from one side to the other, soft cracks emanating from the forced movement. Hermione cringed at the sound. "Yeah. You?"

Hermione shrugged and split an egg into the pan as Ron slid the ready toast onto a plate and set it down on the table next to the plate of omelette.

A cupboard door swung open and Hermione reached in. "Jam?" She held out a small jar of red preserve.

"Sure." Ron sprinkled pepper over his omelette as Hermione put out the jam jar on the table.

"Water? Tea?"

"Water's fine."

Hermione slid the cooked egg in the pan onto her own plate and filled two glasses with water from the tap. She set the glasses down on the table and sat down. Ignoring Ron's rapid consumption of his omelette, she spread jam over the toast and broke off a piece of her egg with a fork.

"So," Ron looked up from his already half-eaten omelette, his mouth half-full with toast while the a piece of jam-spread toast held in his hand tell-tale bite marks, "why are you trying to live like a Muggle?" He swallowed the rest of the food in his mouth. "I mean, blimey, Hermione, you even cook like a Muggle. I feel like a Muggle when I'm here." He paused in thoughtful realisation. "It's not all that glamorous. Being a Muggle, I mean."

Hermione smiled at Ron's last remark of distant surprise. "Well," she shrugged, "I suppose it's just how I'm used to living."

She picked at her food as the toast in Ron's hand crunched softly as he bit into it. The ticking of the clock filled the silence between the tinkling of cutlery and the subdued chewing of food in the tiny kitchenette.

"So..." she began, drawing out the monosyllabic word to break the quiet.

Ron looked up, waving his fork as he chewed his food. "Crookshanks caught his paw on something a few days ago."

The fork in Hermione's hand froze. "What? How?"

"Charlie reckons he stepped on something but Ginny's pretty convinced he got attacked by a gnome. I think she's mental. She's acting a bit like mum, now that I think of it." The last of the omelette disappeared into his mouth. "Anyway," he continued, gesticulating utensil-armed hand, "Charlie's taking care of him so Crookshanks should be doing just fine."

Hermione her elbow up on the table, setting her chin in the palm of her hand. "Well," she shook her head and dropped her arm to her side, "I suppose if he's doing alright..." She bit her lip and frowned, unsettled.

"Oh, and Ginny reckons he misses you." He exchanged wry grins with Hermione albeit a bit forced on Hermione's part. "He's been pawing around the house in all the places you used to be," he chuckled, "especially Ginny's room. You know the chair you used to read books in? It's just completely covered with his fur now. And..." Ron went on, describing Crookshanks' strange habits until,

"Ron. Ron! RON!" Hermione shouted, silencing Ron. "I'm not going back to the Burrow until I find my parents no matter how hard you try to guilt me into it."

Ron's face turned a purplish hue of red as he looked away, muttering vague apologies.

"Has Ginny's memory gotten any better?" Hermione lifted her glass of water to her lips. She sipped from it as Ron regarded her with a suspicious look. "The letter," she explained with a shrug. "Ginny wanted to know what I remember since I was with her for the most of it."

"Not really," Ron admitted quietly, his voice distinctly weary. "She keeps asking me though."

Hermione sighed, setting her glass down and leaned forwards with her elbows on the table. "She mentioned something about Harry..." she trailed off, troubled.

"Oh." Ron nodded weakly and grimaced. "I think they're going through a rough patch, is all."

"How?"

"Well, I don't reckon they've been seeing each other much lately. Harry's always at the Auror Office and Ginny's always outside playing Quidditch." Ron paused to take a gulp of water from his glass. "He lent her his Firebolt just yesterday, you know. Reckons he doesn't have any more time so..." He shrugged as Hermione's brows shot up in mild surprise. "She sometimes visits him at Grimmauld Place but she doesn't like being stuck inside all the time."

"And I'll bet Harry isn't better," Hermione mused. It wasn't a question, but a statement that Ron affirmed with a nod. "Still bringing his work home, I suppose?"

Ron nodded again. "I don't blame him though," he added, "Kingsley's really loading the work on him."

Hermione frowned reproachfully. "I thought he said that he wanted to spend more time with Ginny now that the war is over."

He shrugged. "Probably trying to forget the stuff that happened," Ron hazarded in a mumble. "Or maybe, he's just sort of doing that..."

"That saving people thing," Hermione finished as she shook her head thoughtfully. She bit into her toast as Ron gulped down his water.

"Hermione?" said Ron suddenly, "Where's your wand?"

Her gaze fell to the egg on her plate and she shrugged. "Just left it in the bedroom, I suppose," she murmured.

"Oh."

"Why?"

"No reason," Ron shrugged. "Just thought you would have used it for..." His voice faltered as he looked around him, remembering that Hermione's breakfast was produced entirely by Muggle device. "Never mind."

Hermione regarded Ron with a vaguely amused look as he sighed and ran his fingers through his ginger hair.

"George is getting the store back in business," he said, changing the subject. "He was right about those bloody Pygmy Puffs last year," he went on. "I don't reckon people stopped buying them even during the war."

Hermione sensed the glossing over of detail. "Has George come up with any new products lately?"

"A few. He's... doing alright. There's not as many as there used to be, but some of the things that he comes up with are just brilliant. It's been good for him, I think. For all of us."

Hermione nodded sympathetically as she listened.

Ron took a sip from his glass and pitched his voice lighter, more casual with an effort. "He's been pretty secretive about some of the inventions but I've got more out of him than Harry or Ginny. I guess since I'm helping him out more with the shop and everything now." He shrugged in a half-hearted attempt to deflate the swell of pride in his voice. "I reckon sales will be rocketing sometime soon with Percy heading the finances. He's actually got a talent for that sort of thing; accounting and all that."

Hermione smiled. "Sounds like you're getting back on your feet," she said as she stacked the plates. "How's your mum doing?"

"She's alright." Ron stood and collected the jam jar and their glasses. "Crying a lot less now that she keeps herself busy fussing over Ginny." He looked over as Hermione set the plates down in the sink. "I'll get that."

Ron put the jam jar away and nudged Hermione over from in front of the sink. "I don't know why you don't use magic to do these things," he muttered quietly as he brandished his wand and cleaned the dishes. "It'd save so much time."

Hermione shrugged as she stepped out of the kitchenette. "The food exception to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration includes cooking, you know."

—

"Crookshanks?"

Ginny hastily marked her page and tucked it between the armrest and the seat cushion of the sagging armchair Hermione had favoured during her visits to the Burrow. Shuffling out of the living room, she followed the limping cat to the door and watched with amusement as Crookshanks attempted to climb the hem of Ron's robes.

"Back from Hermione's," she remarked with a smirk as she turned and headed back to the comforts of the crackling fireplace in the living room. "Come, Crookshanks." Crookshanks followed at Ginny's heels with little more than a brief glance back at Ron before disappearing into the next room.

Ron hung his robes up at the door with a tired sigh, then trudged towards the rickety staircase that led to his bedroom. "What're you doing awake now, anyway?" he grumbled as he made his way through the sitting room. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

Ginny glanced up as she turned the page. "Poetry. Couldn't sleep."

"Yeah, there's a lot of that going around," Ron muttered under his breath.

Ginny's hand absently stroked Crookshanks' ginger fur as Arnold the Pygmy Puff snored softly on the armrest. The small book lowered as she peered over. "I'm seventeen, Ron. I'm not a baby."

Ron shrugged and ran a hand wearily over his face, stifling a yawn with his fist as he climbed up a flight of stairs. "Hang on a minute..." He stopped abruptly and turned heel, hurtling down the stairs.

"Ginny," Ron burst into the living room, "where were you today?"

"Nowhere." Ginny closed her book and set it down in her lap. "Why?"

"You weren't at Hermione's?"

"Like I could. Haven't got my Apparation test yet, have I?"

"Then how'd you know?"

"Know what, Ron?" said Ginny impatiently.

"How did you know," Ron repeated exasperatedly, "that Hermione needed me?"

Crookshanks mewed lazily, stretching out as Ron and Ginny stared at each other, the quiet filled with the quiet snores of the stirring ball of fluff at Ginny's elbow. Slipping out from under Ginny's stilled hand, Crookshanks trotted across the sitting room. Ginny watched with vague disappointment as Crookshanks disappeared behind Ron's feet. Her gaze swung back to her brother.

"I don't know," she replied with a dismissive shrug. She stood and stretched, yawning pointedly. "It's late, I'm going to bed." She pushed past him, book tucked under an arm, and climbed the stairs to her room.

But as she disappeared up the stairs, Ron couldn't push the image of his sister storming into his office, Firebolt in gloved hand, a full camping pack in the other, a windswept mane of red hair as her eyes danced with unprecedented ferocity under the thin layer of soot characteristic of a hasty Floo'ing. She had practically thrown him out of his own office and ordered him to Apparate to Hermione's flat.

Grumbling, Ron turned and stamped up the stairs to his bedroom, absently flicking his wand to snuff the candles and lamps lining the sides of the staircase behind him. He changed quickly into his pyjamas and crawled into bed, the lights dimming to nothing with a soft click of the Deluminator. He shifted under the covers, shutting his eyes in what he knew was a futile attempt to sleep.

These days, it seemed as if no one ever slept.


	7. Trials

**Trials**

"Ginny?"

The light touch of knuckles against wood pushed the door inwards on its creaking hinges as Ron peered into his sister's empty bedroom. The glossy posters of the Weird Sisters and Gwenog Jones were illuminated by the morning sun as it bled through the half-drawn blinds and crashed against the walls.

"Mum," Ron looked down the stairs from the landing, "where's Ginny?"

"She left early for Quidditch trials," said Mrs. Weasley absently from the kitchen, the smell of breakfast wafting from it.

"Quidditch trials?"

"Yes, Quidditch trials," replied Mrs. Weasley patiently as she flicked her wand and the contents of the pan on the stove flipped. "Couldn't sleep a wink after she came home for dinner and announced that she accepted the invitation."

Ron nearly fell down the stairs in his hurry to get to the kitchen. He turned the corner into the kitchen, passing by the counter where a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice awaited him.

"She borrowed your broom, by the way. Thought you wouldn't mind."

"Quidditch trials? Like... playing for the Quidditch league?"

"As I recall," Mrs. Weasley replied thoughtfully as she sorted through a pile of opened mail. She pulled a letter from the envelope, opened it up and read from it, "she was invited to a trial organised by Puddlemere, The Prides, and The Harpies to recruit for their reserve teams."

Orange juice sprayed over the scrubbed wooden table.

—

Her leather boots scuffed the melting dew-wet grass surrounding the Quidditch pitch as Ginny Weasley braked to a halt and dismounted from the Cleansweep Eleven. Her hand instinctively reached back to reassure herself that the Firebolt she had strapped onto the back of her bag was still securely fastened. She breathed a soft sigh as she pulled away the balaclava from her face, her breath drifting away in puffy white clouds.

"Well, damn," she whispered appreciatively as she let her eyes roam over the pitch.

The meticulously cared for grass glistened as the two sets of hoops that stood on either side of the pitch gleamed in the morning light.

"Weasley, isn't it?"

She spun at the slightly reedy sounding voice, raising her hand to block out the sun in her eyes as she squinted to focus on the figure.

"Heard you were going to be at the Chaser and Seeker trials." He looked up at the sky, evaluating the weather conditions. "You're early," he said as his eyes darted Ginny's two brooms appraisingly.

"Care to have a go?" he asked, nodding to the hoops at the far end of the pitch.

Without giving Ginny time to respond, he mounted his broom and shot off from the ground. Scowling, Ginny shrugged off her bag and set it aside. She remounted her broom, kicked off and shot forward to catch up.

"You know," she remarked as she matched his speed, "you're exactly how my brothers said you were, Wood."

He laughed as he made a tight circle around the hoops. "All good, I hope?"

Ginny smirked as she gripped the Quaffle in a gloved hand. "We'll see about that."

—

Ginny and Wood practised for nearly an hour before the other candidates had Apparated onto the grounds. Ginny nearly dropped the Quaffle when she spun on tail to have a look at her competition.

"Good luck," Wood called from the hoops and flew off, joining another reserve Keeper wearing purple robes at the corner of the pitch.

"Thanks," she muttered.

Ginny breathed a deep breath as she landed and joined the rest of the group in a huddle around the three coaches for roll call and a short introduction, ignoring some curious looks from her fellow invitees. She sized up her competition while she listened, counting six in total including herself as she tried not to be intimidated by their taller and heavier forms. She shifted uncomfortably as their curious gazes looked over her critically.

"Alright, let's see how you fly then!"

Ginny snapped out of her reverie, sparing a glance to Wood who gave her a curt nod of encouragement. The whistle blew and she shot off on the Cleansweep Eleven.

The exercises progressed from flying manoeuvres to formations and then to passing and teamwork followed by a combination of both with the introduction of Bludgers. They huddled around the three coaches, joined by Wood and the Prides' reserve Keeper, barking orders from their brooms hovering mid-air.

"We're going to start a short scrimmage. Just the Quaffle. We'll evaluate your scoring offensive and defensive skills," the Prides coach explained. "Each team will be assigned a Keeper for only the first half of the scrimmage. Clear?"

The Chaser hopefuls murmured their assent as he looked down at his clipboard and cleared his throat.

"Burrow, Campbell, Weasley, Wood. You'll be defending the west. Dark colours. The rest of you, make sure you're wearing light coloured robes."

Ginny set her jaw and flew off, joining her teammates as they drew their wands and enchanted their robes accordingly. She sighed as she scanned the faces of her fellow candidates. She circled the hoops and hovered in front of them as she exchanged grins with Wood.

"Alright there, Weasley?"

She nodded. "Just fine," she said, flashing him a grin, "more worried about you, honestly."

She shot forward, joining her teammates at the centre of the pitch, both vying for the centre position for the best chances of getting the Quaffle first.

"Will you two cut it out?" Ginny snapped as she let her broom drift a little. "Flip a coin or something."

She rolled her eyes, ignoring their stunned and venomous expressions as she swerved into position left of centre and readjusted her gauntlets with a grimace. Leather peeled itself from her skin as she tugged the glove off by the holes for her fingers to let her arm breathe. She tightened the gauntlet grimly and drifted forward a few inches as the second whistle blew and the Quaffle was released

Her team was in possession of the Quaffle and they wove in and around their opponents with ease.

"Pass it!" Her hands gripped the handle of her broomstick with pent-up frustration. "He's open!"

The opportunity was missed and she groaned as she swung her broom around and eyed the Quaffle's progress to the west side of the field. She dove and pulled a sharp turn, intercepting the Quaffle, passed it to Burrow and shot forward, losing her slightly disoriented guard in the process. She caught the Quaffle again in a back-hand pass and angled her way past the last defending Chaser.

It started with a twinge and then, like wildfire, pain lanced through her arm, freezing her fingers against the leather ball. She fumbled for the Quaffle with her numb fingers as she doubled over reeling, clutching at her arm and the Quaffle protected against her chest until she feebly passed it out to Campbell. She barely registered her team's cheer as they scored, her jaw clenched tight as she fought the urge to scream. She bit her lip and gripped the handle of her broom, lauching across the field to defend her goalposts as the pain slowly ebbed away.

She urged her broom forward with mounting anxiety as she watched the opposing team's Chasers closing in on Wood. She dove to check and missed as the Quaffle was passed to another member of the opposing team. She swore as she watched the Quaffle soar toward an open goal and swung her broom around to block it.

A blur flew past her and she grinned her relief as Wood managed to make the save and passed it out to Campbell, already making her way up the pitch.

Ginny dodged a body check as she pitched down and caught the Quaffle, weaving through her opponents and passed it off as she climbed upwards in front of the scoring area for a better vantage point. She caught the Quaffle in a well aimed pass from Campbell and dove, scoring ten points.

Back and forth she flew, playing as hard as she ever dared, racking up the points faster than she could count, forgetting the time limit of the game entirely.

The whistle blew, signalling the end of the game.

Ginny bit back a scowl as she pulled away from the hoops and glanced at the scoreboard, showing a twenty point loss for her team. Despite their initial lead, their team had relied too heavily on Wood's skills as a Keeper and let too many Quaffles through once he had left the scrimmage. She reached the centre of the pitch and landed, trying not to look disappointed.

"Right," said the Puddlemere assistant coach, straightening his robes as he scanned the faces of the hopeful Chasers surrounding him. "A physical examination will be mandatory as you leave the pitch to the change rooms over there." He pointed in the general direction of the west stands. "Results will be owled to you in a week. Good work everyone."

Ginny felt a sick, dreading feeling sink in her stomach as she watched the other Chaser hopefuls walk towards the change rooms.

"Weasley."

She looked up just in time to see her teammates turn around, their expression a mix of curiosity and resentment as the coaches addressed Ginny directly. She swallowed.

"You'll do your medical examination after your Seeker trials – it's a bit more stringent than the Chaser examinations," said the Holyhead Harpies coach as she closed her clipboard and gave her an encouraging grin. "We'll see you in a few hours."

Ginny smiled uncertainly back as the coaches swept off, conferring quietly amongst themselves as she scuffed the grass with her feet and stalked off to the stands. She grabbed her pack and traded the Cleansweep Eleven for the Firebolt in favour of its superior speed and response to warm up for Seeking just as a snowflake drifted down and settled on her outstretched gloved hand.

She watched impassively as it melted like a flower in winter, cherry blossoms in the late spring; fading away to nothing in its brief but beautiful moment of vitality.

"Brilliant," she sighed. "Seeker trials in snow."

—

She stripped off most of the padding and protection she wore over her robes and tossed them into a pile beside her on the spectator stands – all except her right gauntlet. Gingerly peeling the strap and loosening the glove, she tugged it free of her hand and ran her numb fingers over the hairline thin pink scars that lined her arm from palm to elbow.

Boots stamped onto a bench behind her and she hastily pulled the sleeve of her robes over her forearm.

"You'll pass the physical, don't worry." Oliver dropped to a seat beside her, squinting up at the snowy sky.

Ginny nodded silently and glanced at Wood, following his gaze upwards. "Do you always look at the sky?"

"Do you always worry about your arm?"

Ginny looked away from Oliver's questioning gaze and heaved a shrug.

"The healers did say it'd be alright to play, didn't they?" Oliver asked haltingly.

She nodded stiffly and scanned the pitch.

"Then you'll pass the physical."

"You make it sound so easy." She sighed and clasped her hands in her lap. "It's not like that. I mean..." She paused and shook her head as she collected her things. "Never mind. I should go." Stuffing her gear into her holdall, she shouldered her bag and stomped away, leaving a very bewildered Wood sitting on the stands.

—

"How were trials, dear?"

Ginny sighed as she dragged her feet through the kitchen. "Fine, mum," she croaked as she clutched the shoulder strap of her bag. "Just tired."

"Blimey, Ginny, you look like a drowned cat!"

"Thanks, George," she mumbled sarcastically as she grabbed a piece of toast off the counter as the snow frozen to her robes melted and dripped onto the floor.

George grinned and waved his wand from where he stood in the doorway to the sitting room. In a second, Ginny's clothes were dry and warm as if they had lying out in the summer sun to dry.

He glanced to the holdall hanging at Ginny's side and affected an offended look. "You're not using the Quidditch bag I gave you!"

Ginny fingered the leather padded strap and shrugged. "I wanted to use this one; it's lucky."

"Your loss." George shrugged and turned to head back to the sitting room. "Don't know why you still use that old Muggle thing."

"George!" shouted Mrs Weasley. "Just because you're making plenty business at the store does not mean you should buy new things you don't need. Honestly! I thought Percy would have taught you something!"

"I don't see what the fuss is about, mum." George returned to the doorway. "It's just a bag."

"'Just a bag,' you say!" Mrs Weasley's voice was shrill as George's face turned pale.

"Well, it is, mum, and it's not one made of solid gold either!"

"Have you any idea how mu –"

"Stop it!" Ginny glared at the both of them, her voice wavering just slightly as it rung through the kitchen. Mrs Weasley and George's faces wore stunned expressions as they gaped at Ginny.

"What's going on?" asked Charlie quietly as he poked his head over George's shoulder.

Ginny took a breath and counted to ten. "It was Hermione's, alright? She gave it to me."

She glanced around, grabbing a second piece of toast and shuffled as inconspicuously as she could from the kitchen.

"I'm going to bed."

—

_December 4, 1995_

_Ginny,_

_Congratulations! I knew you'd make the team. I hope you'll find this useful for Quidditch practice._

_Happy Christmas,  
Hermione_


	8. Tribulations

**Tribulations**

_Hermione! Oh my __– __! Maria __– __call the hospital and get my wife on the line. It's an emergency!"_

—

Her eyes cracked open, letting in the Australian summer sun filtering through the Venetian blinds. She squinted, trying to clear the hazy mist that persisted in her vision as she slowly took in the muted colours of her hospital room. Long drapes enclosed the space surrounding her bed, obscuring her view of the room's other occupants.

"Hermione?" A face hovered into view.

Hermione frowned, trying to make out its worried features.

"Oh thank goodness, you're awake," the voice said with a sigh of relief. "Elliot brought you into the emergency ward after you lost consciousness. He had to go back to the office – emergency call from one of his patients." She paused pensively. "How are you feeling?"

Hermione's head spun as she struggled to sit up. "I'm fine. I think." Her hand gingerly touched the back of her pounding head. "You must be... Dr Simon's wife?"

"That's right." Mrs Simon looked her over with a critical eye, interrupted by her pager. She glanced down at it. "I'll fetch your doctor," she said quickly, giving Hermione an encouraging smile and disappearing around the curtains.

Hermione nodded, trying to focus her vision as she watched Mrs Simon hurry off without another word and raised a hand to touch the gauze covering her left eye.

"Good afternoon, Hermione." A blur of white swept to her bedside, scooping up the chart at the foot of Hermione's bed in a practised movement. "I'm Dr. Campbell. How are you feeling?"

"Fine." She self-consciously touched the gauze on her face.

The doctor nodded and leaned forward, gently peeling off the gauze from Hermione's eye. "Any dizziness or nausea?"

"Not really. Just when I move too quickly."

Dr. Campbell nodded as she clicked on a penlight, shining it into Hermione's eyes briefly while Hermione fought the urge to blink rapidly. Straightening, the doctor tucked away the penlight into her coat pocket and retrieved the chart.

"Looks like you just bumped your head a little when you fainted," she remarked as she flipped through the pages. "There's been some scarring on your cornea," she said slowly, skimming the text on a page. "Mostly on the left eye but it's very minor."

Hermione straightened imperceptibly at the news. "My vision is kind of blurry still..." she remarked, trailing off uncertainly.

"That's normal. The chemical we used to flush out your eyes has that effect for about a day, maybe less." The doctor paused to scribble a few notes on Hermione's chart. "You may need some correction lenses, though."

"That's fine," Hermione murmured, looking around her and trying to force her eyes to focus on something.

Dr. Campbell glanced up at her over the chart. "Try not to overwork your eyes." She flipped the chart closed and let it drop back into its slot with a hollow clunk.

"So that's it?"

"That's it."

"Can I go home?"

Dr. Campbell grinned. "Just sign yourself out when you're feeling up to it."

—

Hermione sighed as she looked up from the sign-out documents and scanned the hospital waiting room as she tapped her ballpoint pen against the clipboard.

"Hermione!" Ron gasped, "I got here as soon as I could. Harry said that there was some stuff you needed help with and I -"

"Ron!" Hermione spun around. "What are you doing here?" she blurted out. She grimaced as Ron's eager expression slid off his face. "Sorry, I was just expecting Harry, that's all. You know how he is with dealing with these things." She gestured vaguely to the hospital.

"Yeah, I suppose." Ron frowned, straightening his robes and steadfastly ignored the curious looks people were giving him. "What is this place, anyway?"

"It's a hospital." Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. "And since you're here, could you help me fill out this form?"

Ron leaned over to squint at the paper on the clipboard in front of Hermione. "Blimey, they actually expect you to write in these tiny little boxes?" he muttered incredulously and straightened. "No wonder your writing's tiny."

"Here." Hermione thrust her pen at Ron. "This will help. And no, it's not a wand. It's a pen, Ron."

Ron turned the pen over in his hands, examining it briefly and holding it in the wrong direction. Hermione sighed and flipped it around for him.

"So what do you want me to do?"

"You could fill out my name to start."

"Well why don't you do it yourself?"

"Because," Hermione explained exasperatedly, "I can't exactly see properly right now."

"What?! What happened? Did those Muggle doctors do something to you?" Ron demanded as he ignored a few scathing looks from passing hospital staff.

"No, no, that's... Nothing happened, Ron." Hermione sighed. "I just accidentally spilled something on myself. The doctors cleared it up but the medicine makes everything look blurry to me. It should go away in a few hours."

"Oh." Ron shuffled awkwardly. "Well should I bring you to St. Mungo's? I bet my mum would be able to fix you up a place while you're there and they'll be able to patch y -"

"No, Ron, that's fine," said Hermione firmly. "Just help me fill out the form, please?"

"Okay, okay. Address?"

—

Hermione sighed as she drew back her bushy brown hair from her aching eyes. "Thanks for coming, Ron," she murmured, glancing up with an appreciative smile. "You're a true..." she trailed off, frowning as she search for the most appropriate word.

"Boyfriend?" Ron supplied with a hopeful look.

Hermione smiled as she stepped into the elevator. "Yes, that."

"Just don't make me fill out another one of those forms again," Ron grumbled, massaging his hand. "My hand's about to fall off."

Hermione glanced at Ron's hand and hid a smile. "I'm sure your hand won't be going anywhere anytime soon. Consider it good practise for all the paperwork you'll need to be doing at the Auror's office." She scanned the control panel, squinting to make out the letters and buttons unsuccessfully. "Can we get out of here?"

Ron gave her a bewildered look. "Ground floor, please."

Hermione bit her lip, torn between laughing and huffing exasperatedly. "The control panel, Ron," she said, gesturing to it while she fought to disguise her amusement with levity. "You've got to press the button for the floor you want to go to."

"Oh." Ron's face flushed with embarrassment. "Well it worked when I got here," he mumbled as he jabbed his finger at one of the numbers and watched with idle fascination as the doors began to close.

"Hold the elevator!"

Hermione froze as Ron threw his arm out to intercept the closing elevator doors.

"Thank you," panted the man as he gently wheeled an occupied wheelchair into the elevator and glanced at the control panel in front of Ron. "Second floor, if you don't mind."

Ron shrugged and pressed the button labelled with a 2. He jabbed it repeatedly when the elevator doors didn't close immediately. "Is it broken?" he whispered to Hermione.

"No, it's just taking its time," Hermione whispered back, resting a hand on his arm. She glanced at the other occupants in the elevator, hoping to make out their faces as the doors closed and the elevator began to move. "Ron," she whispered, rising to her tiptoes to remain discrete, "do they look familiar to you?"

The elevator jolted to a stop, causing Hermione to lose her balance and knock into the side of the wheelchair with a dismayed squeak.

"Sorry!"

"That's alright." The woman in the wheelchair smiled up at her. "Have a good evening, now."

Hermione stared as the couple left the elevator and disappeared as they turned a corner.

"Is something wrong?" Ron watched Hermione, bemused. "They didn't look familiar to me."

"They should. " Hermione swallowed as the doors closed. "They're my parents."


End file.
